


Q,. '» 








, > „ ^ * ^ <Z* W a "^ * 




















\^4 




^ °. 



















o I 






-^" V^^.-". %''''^" v^'-.-o. % 







"\.^^ 






■^. ^^ * «!©«■•_ -^^ o^ „ 









.0^ .S-. 













r . "■<>. 



.^°^ 



.p °'^ ' 






/j''^ -m 














^ <xV 







^^0^ 




x^ 













&^ 






,^ <?^ 







,^H0^ o 

















ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 



HISTORICAL DRAMA. 



BY 

GEORGE H. CALVERT, 



A NEW EDITIOK. 



BOSTON: 
LEE AND SHEPARD. 

1876. 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1864, by 

George H. Calvert, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Rhode Island 



RIVERSIDE, CAM bridge: 
STEKEOrrPED AND PRINTED BY H. 0. HOUGHTON. 



ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 






r- 



7r<5 



PERSONS REPRESENTED. 



AMERICAN. 

Geokge Washington, Commander-in-Chief. 

Major-General Arnold. 

Mrs. Arnold, his Wife. 

Colonel Hamilton, Aide-de-Camp to General Washington. 

Major McHenry, Aide-de-Camp to Lafayette. 

M jor Varick, Aide-de-Camji to Arnold. 

Joshua Smith, friend of Arnold. 

Paulding, ) 

Williams, / Captors of Andre. 

Van Wart, ) 

Serc/eani Briggs. 

Fleming. 

Van BERG. 

Old Man. 

His Grandson. 

Farmers, Citizens, Attendants, 

Major- General Greene, President, \ 

Major- General, Marquis Lafayette, f Members of the Court of 

Major- General, Baron Steuben, 1 Inquiry. 

General Knox, and ten others^ ) 

BRITISH. 

Sir Henry Clinton, Commander-in- Chiej'. 

Colonel Beverly Robinson, an American Tory. 

Major Andre. 

Captain Sutherland, Captain of tlie sloop-of-war " Vulture.'''' 

Old British Officer. 

Scene: Up the Hudson River, except the 2d Scene of Act I., which 

is in Neio York. 
Time: From September 18th to 30th, 1780, 



I 



PREFACE, 



An historical drama being the incarnation — 
through the most compact and brilliant literary 
form — of the spirit of a national epoch, the 
dramatic author, in adopting historic personages 
and events, is bound to subordinate himself with 
conscientious faithfulness to the actuality he at- 
tempts to reproduce. His task is, by help of 
imaginative power, to give to important conjunc- 
tures, and to the individuals that rule them, a 
more vivid embodiment than can be given on 
the literal page of history, — not to transform, 
but to elevate and animate an enacted reality, 
and, by injecting it with poetic rays, to make it 
throw out from itself a light whereby its features 
shall be more clearly visible. 

Historic subjects have necessarily an epic bias, 



yiii PRE FA CE. 

events sweeping men along in their current, in- 
stead of the current being much determined by 
the personahties of men. Hence Shakspeare's 
most dramatic tragedies, 3Iacheth and Xear and 
Hamlet, are drawn from the prehistoric period, 
where the poetic as well as the dramatic genius 
has freer scope ; while those from English and 
Ancient history are enjoyed for their clean char-' 
acterization and luminous historic picture-painting, 
and for — what is common to all his work — 
great thovights buoyed on a sea of beauty, more 
than for the prolific interplay of feelings and the 
deep entanglements of passion — inextricable but 
by death — and the breadth of seemingly free 
movement, which make the tragedies wrought by 
Shakspeare out of legend a glowing epitome of 
the fallible and pathetic in human nature, a 
poetic abstract of the tragic liabilities of man. 
The Epic may be likened to a broad, swollen, 
majestic, irresistible river : the Dramatic to the 
pent-up waters of a rock-bound lake lashed by a 
tempest. 



PREFACE. ix 

But the Dramatic, gathering up the varied 
and separate impulses of humanity into con- 
densed organic wholes, combines into itself both 
the other classes of poetic utterance, perfusing 
its tissue with lyric as well as with epic juice. 
As Shakspeare's historic plays are largely tinted 
with epic color, others so sparkle with fantastic 
wilfulness that they may almost be styled lyrical 
dramas ; foremost among which are Midsummer 
NigMs Dream and the Tempest., wherein, through 
scenes and dialogue still thoroughly dramatic, 
Shakspeare has more completely than elsewhere 
given vent to his poetic and, I may venture to 
say, his personal individuality, saturating them 
with the inmost fragrance of his beautiful nature, 
and making them buoyant with the fullest play 
of a divine cheerfulness. 

To get a view of the level little enclosure of 
the three acts that are to follow, it is not at 
all necessary to ascend to these Shakspearian 
heights, up to which one is ever tempted by the 
fruit that grows on them, — a golden crop, inex- 



X PREFACE. 

haustible in its beauty and healthful succulence. 
We come down from them to say, that the 
momentous consequences involved in success or 
failure, the exciting and special nature of the 
incidents and accompaniments, the individualities 
of the two chief agents, with the figure and 
character of Washington looming in the back- 
ground almost like a controlling destiny, give to 
the treason of Arnold rare capabilities as an 
aesthetic subject ; and if the necessary locking 
of the plot within a few breasts, and the separa- 
tion of the principal agents except for one inter- 
view, prevent there being much of that action 
and reaction between the personages which is 
needed for the deepest dramatic involution, this 
is largely compensated for by the contrast be- 
tween the natures of Arnold and Andrd, and by 
the direct effect which their personal qualities and 
temperaments had on the original conception of 
the treason and on its issue. 

Althouixh, from the confined circle in which 
such a treason necessarily moved, it be not as a 



PREFACE. xi 

subject for dramatic treatment the richest and 
broadest, it is nevertheless well fitted for such 
treatment, inasmuch as not only its inception and 
progress, but also its defeat, were so directly the 
result of the especial character of the several 
persons engaged. The epic flow pauses for a 
moment while human passions enact this episode. 
In the rising stream of our history an eddy was 
made to which a high military trust enabled a 
Major-General to give so wide a sweep that the 
success of his plot would have caused the current 
disastrously to overflow, if not to change entirely 
its channel. 

The aim of the dramatist being to reproduce 
in poetic form a chapter or section of National 
Annals, and fidelity therefor to the spirit of the 
period selected being a primary condition to the 
attainment of his aim, it follows that truth of 
characterization becomes a demand which he 
must satisfy, or fail in his undertaking ; for the 
events, owing their import, and it may be their 
very existence, to the individualities of the chief 



xii PREFACE. 

historic agents, the more faithfully these are re- 
produced the more truly will the historic spirit 
be preserved, it being the peculiar quality of 
epochs fitted for dramatic treatment, that their 
spirit is a distillation, so to speak, out of that of 
the influential agents, in a measure the creators, 
of the epoch. By truth of characterization is 
meant historic truth, which is not only no bar 
to poetic truth, but makes for it a solid elastic 
basis, history and poetry enlivening and elevating 
one the other. Poetry being the finest truth, 
the essence indeed of truth, nourishes itself ro- 
bustly and palatably on the true, pines if fed on 
the false, and has within itself such all-sufficient 
resources, that whatever is required for its own 
corporeal manifestation it can freshly generate, if 
need be, by imaginative energy. Wherefore, to 
falsify history in order to compass dramatic ends, 
were hi the author self-conviction of incompe- 
tency ; and whenever such falsification has been 
resorted to, it will be found that there is weak- 
ness in the spirit, as well as in the body, of the 
product. 



PREFACE. xiii 

But to compass his ends, the dramatist may 
"feign according to nature," not only in the dia- 
logue and monologue of the historic figures, but 
also by intermingling with them others, the breath 
of whose life is the concentrated spirit of the 
epoch represented. Such inventions are not jus- 
tifiable merely, as being in keeping with the his- 
toric picture ; they are demanded for the very 
purpose of giving to historic fact more palpable 
actuality. They are not mere ornaments, — for 
as such they would be vicious weaknesses, — but 
are serviceable adjuncts, which, by not only har- 
monizing with the known personages, but by 
giving higher relief to them and their deeds, 
heighten and enlarge the dramatic effect. Being 
secondary, they are Hke the flying buttresses of 
a cathedral, which, although subordinate, give to 
the edifice strength, as well as grace and expan- 
sion. This dramatic privilege I have used, espe- 
cially in the first and second Scenes, seeking by 
means of it to bring more clearly to view the 
public and military opinion and feeling of the 



xiv PREFACE. 

time, and by thus exhibiting the medium in 
which the transactions occur, and by which they 
are subtly influenced, to impart to the dramatic 
picture more fulness and vivacity. 

Whether or not Mrs. Arnold knew of her hus- 
band's design was for some time uncertain. I 
believe that the final judgment upon all the evi- 
dence accessible is, that she did not. I should 
in every case have eagerly seized upon and given 
her the benefit of any doubt, as to suppose her 
ignorant is grateful to humane and generous feel- 
ing, besides making her dramatically more effec- 
tive. 

Washington appears in the first and last Scenes, 
— thus infolding, as it were, the whole action in 
his vast paternal arms ; but he is seen for a few 
moments only, and at the bottom of the stage, 
and is not heard. That the plot failed was re- 
motely owing to him ; for when, after crossing the 
river, as presented in the opening Scene, Arnold 
at Peekskill showed him the letter just received 
from Beverly Robinson, seemingly on private 



PREFACE, XV 

business, and asking an interview, Washington, 
with his habitual masterly prudence and benig- 
nant watchfulness, forbade the interview, and this 
prohibition it was that obliged the more circuitous 
and more dangerous procedure. 

The drama w^as finished some years since. One 
Scene, the second of the first Act, was written 
long ago, and was printed in 1840. 

Newport^ R. I., December, 1863. 



ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. 

The landing at Verplanclcs Point on the Hudson 
River, September ISth, 1780. 

Enter, on one side, Fleming, lame, and Vanukrg; on the 
other, Sergeant Briggs, who has lost an arm; with him two 
farmers, 

FLEMING. 

Well met, Sergeant Briggs. We are here on 
the same errand, eh ? 

BRIGGS. 

Aye, cripples that we are. Hard, is it not, 
to be lazy lookers-on ? I '11 brook it no longer, 
now that my stump is healed. There 's no snuff 
like burnt gunpowder : it puts two lives into 
the brain of a man. 

2 



18 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. fAcr I. 

FARMER. 

And takes one from his arms. 

BRIGGS. 

Aye, neighbor, that was rare luck, when you 
see how close the head is to the shoulders. I 've 
my best arm left, and for that one the Com- 
mander-in-Chief must find something to do. 

^ FLEMING. 

It's certain, then, that he crosses the ferry this 
afternoon ? 

BRIGGS. 

Certain as the tide. My neighbor here was 
over at Stony Point two hours ago. The Chief 
is on his way to Hartford, to confer with the 
French Commander, Count Rochambeau, lately 
arrived at Newport. General Arnold has just 
come down the river to meet him, and will 
bring him over in a barge. 

FLEMING. 

Ha! then I shall have another look at General 
Arnold. There 's a general for you, if ever 
there was one. Could you have seen him at 



Scene I.] ARNOLD AND ANDR]^, 19 

Behmus's Heights ! Like the wind, he was every- 
where at once, and wherever he came, he blew 
into us his own heat. That was a time when 
we drove the Hessians from their encampment 
The General and I fell together in the very 
mouth of the sally-port, wounded in the same 
leg. I say nothing against General Washington, 
God bless him ; but this I do say, that if Arnold 
Vas Commander-in-Chief there would be hotter 
worE^and more battles. 

BRIGGS. 

Stick to your colors, Fleming : that 's right ; 
I Hke that. But the fewer battles we fight, my 
friend, the better. In a war like this, to know- 
when 7iot to fight is the best generalship. Our 
retreats have gained us more than our victories. 
That I learned in the Jersey campaigns. To re- 
treat is sometimes better even than to beat : it 
spares ourselves and wears the enemy. 

VANBERG. 

I perceive, sir, that you are an apt scholar in 
the school of Washington. 



20 ARNOLD AND ^ANDRE. [Act I. 

BRIGGS. 

And pray, sir, in what school did you learn 
the art of war ? 

VANBEUG. 

I am myself no soldier, but I had a son killed 
at Saratoga, and have another in garrison at 
West Point* 

BRIGGS. 

Your pardon, sir. {Touching his hat.') The 
father of such sons has a right to his opinions. 

VANBERG. 

No offence ; but our side never was in worse 
plight than now. We have been routed in the 
South, whence Sir Henry Clinton has just come 
back with victorious troops to re enforce New 
York. The second French armament, that was 
to have been out ere this, is blockaded in Brest. 
The first is shut up in Newport. Washington 
is too weak to attack New York ; 't is as much 
as~he can do to hold his own on the river. If 
we lose West Point, we make our last retreat. 



Scene I.]" ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 21 

BRIGGS. 

Our last retreat will be made by the last man 
left of us into a bloody grave. But that will 
never be. We '11 fight them back to the Alle- 
ghany Mountains, and hold them there at bay 
till our sons are big enough to fight in front of 
us. Oh that I had a hundred arms, instead of 
but one ! 

Enter an old man with his grandson, fourteen years of age, 
and two or three other citizens. 

OLD MAN, to Briggs. 

Can you tell me^ sir, is it true that General 
Washington comes across the ferry this afternoon ? 

BRIGGS. 

He sent word that he is coming. That's 
enough : he '11 come, — unless an earthquake 
swallow up his horse. Him it will not swallow 
up ; for He who makes earthquakes guards his 
life as the most precious thing on earth at this 
hour. 

OLD MAN. 

You have seen him, sir ? 



22 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act I. 

BRIGGS. 

A hundred times. 

OLD MAN. 

Is there that greatness in his look, that I have 
heaM speak of? 

BRIGGS. 

• There is that in his aspect that you feel your- 
self grow larger as you look at him, as a tree 
grows by looking at the sun. There is in him 
such *a soul, that men get suddenly strong by his 
side. Have you come to look on him ? 

OLD MAN. 

Aye, sir, and that this boy may have sight of 
him. His father, my son, is a dragoon in the 
camp. 

BRIGGS. 

Ha ! Then you shall have speech of him, too, 
if you wish it. He knows me, and if he did 
not, this (striking the stump of Ms lost arni) 
would be a passport to his eye, and from that to 
his heart. 



ScKKEl.] ARNOLD AND ANDR:E. 23 

FLEMING. 

There 's the barge ! 

[ The aj^proacMng barge is visible from the stage.'] 

BRIGGS. 

Aje, so it is, and full of officers. As yet I 
cannot make them out. Lafayette, the noble 
young Frenchman, will be among them. 

FLEMING. 

There 's General Arnold. 

OLD MAN. 

That 's Washington in the centre, is it not ? 

BBIGGS. 

Aye, and beside him, on his left, is Lafayette. 

FLEMING. 

And Arnold is on his right. 

BKIGGS. 

There, Washington is speaking to Lafayette. 
The stout one next to Arnold is General Knox 
of the artillery, a Boston boy. He was a volun- 
teer at Bunker Hill, and has been in every battle 
in the Jerseys. General Washington likes to 
have him near himself. 



24 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act I. 



Is General Greene, of Rhode Island, there? 

BRIGGS. 

No. The Commander-in-Chief, while absent, 
leaves him in command; and worthiest is he to 
till so great a place. 

FLEMING. 

Sergeant, who are the two behind ? 



Ah ! now I know them. The one directly be- 
hind Lafayette is young Hamilton, whom Wash- 
ington loves as a son and trusts as a brother. 
The other is Lee of Virginia, — Major Lee, called 
Light-horse Harry. He, too, has a place in the 
heart of the chief. Of these three, Lee, the 
oldest, is only twenty-four, Lafayette and Ham- 
ilton twenty- three. 

OLD MAN. 

So young and so ripe ! 

BRIGGS. 

They are about to land. Arnold is helping 
Washington out of the barge. 



Scene L] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 25 

lAs Washington steps on the shore, Briggs and all the others lijl 
their hats, which salutation Washington returns, and then, 
accovipanied by the officers, passes from the stage at the side, 
tdthout coming any nearer to the audience. Briggs and the 
others go out on the same side, except the Old Man and his 
grandson, who remainJl 

GRANDSON. 

See, sir ; he is speaking to the gentleman 
with one arm. But, grandfather, how sad he 
looks. 

OLD MAN. 

Very sad, — very sad. Take that look into 
thy heart, my boy : human eyes will never see 
a greater. 

GRANDSON. 

He is mounting his horse. 

OLD MAN. 

What a majestic air! My son, when you shall 
be as old as I am, this hour will be priceless to 
your grandchildren, and men will have a joy in 
seeing the man who saw Washington. 

GRANDSON. 

What a fine horse he rides ! There he goes. 



26 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act I. 
OLD MAN, taking off his hat. 

Thank Heaven, I have seen him. What a 

man ! What a man ! {Exeunt. 



SCENE II. 

New York. 
Sir Henry Clinton, Colonel Robinson, an Old British Officer. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

RebeUion's tattered banner droops at last, 
Wanting the breath of eager confidence. 
Discord, twin-brother to defeat, now hfts 
Within the Congress walls her husky voice, 
(Fit sound for rebel ears,) and in their camp 
Lean want breeds discontent and mutiny : 
The while, o'er our embattled squadrons poised. 
High-crested factory flaps fi-eshened wings. 
Fanning the fires of native valiantness. 
Quickly shall peace revisit this vext land. 
So long bestrid by war, whose iron heel 
With her own life-blood madlv stains her sides. 



SCE.NE II.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 27 



ROBINSON. 



Our arms' success upon the southern shore, — 
Whose thirsty sands are saturate with streams 
From rebel wounds, — and the discomfiture 
Of new-born hopes of aid from fickle France, 
Brought on by Rodney's timely coming, have 
Even to the stoutest hearts struck cold dismay. 



OLD OFFICER. 



Cast down they may be, but despair 's unknown 
To their determined spirits. Washington 's 
The same as when in '76 he passed 
The Delaware, and, in a darker hour 
Than this is, rallied his disheartened troops. 
And, by a stroke of generalship as shrewd 
As bold, back turned the tide of victory. 

ROBINSON. 

But years of fruitless warfare, sucking up 
The people's blood alike and daily substance. 
Weigh on th' exhausted land, like helpless debts 
Of foiled enterprise, that clog the step 
Of action. 



28 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act 



OLD OFFICER. 



Deem ye not the spirit dulled 
"Which first impelled this people to take arms 
And brave our mighty power, nor yet extinct 
The hope which has their energies upheld 
Against such fearfiil odds. The blood they 've shed 
Is blood of martyrs, — consecrated oil, — 
Rich fuel to the flame that 's boldly lit 
On Freedom's altar, and whose dear perfume, 
Upward ascending, is by heroes snuffed. 
Strengthening the soul of patriotic love 
With ireful vengeance. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

Whence, my veteran Colonel, 
Comes it, that you, whose scarred body bears 
The outward proofs of inward loyalty. 
Will entertain for rebels such reo;ard ? 



OLD OFFICER. 



Custom of war hath not so steeled my heart, 
But that its pulse will beat in admiration 
Of noble deeds, even those by foemen done ; 
Nor does my sworn allegiance to my king 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDRJ^:. 29 

Ban sympathy for men who war for rights 
Inherited from British ancestors. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

Their yet unconquered souls, and the stern front 

They have so long opposed in equal strife 

To a war-practised soldiery, attest 

Their valor ; and for us to stint the meed 

Of praise for gallant bearing in the field, 

Were self-disparagement, seeing that still 

They hold at bay our much out-numbering host. 

But for the justice of their cause, — the wrong, 

Skilled to bedeck itself in garb of right, 

Oft cheats the conscience' lax credulity, 

And thus, with virtue's armature engirt. 

Will vice fight often unabashed. Unloose 

The spurs wherewith desire of change, the pride 

Of will, hot blood of restless, uncurbed youth, 

Wanting a distant parent's discipline. 

And bad ambition of aspiring chiefs. 

Do prick them on to this unnatural war, 

And then how tamed would be their fiery mettle, 

Heated alone by patriotic warmth. 



30 ARNOLD AND ANDRJE. [Act I. 

OLD OFFICER. 

My General, I know this people well ; 

And all tlie virtues which Old England claims, 

As the foundations of her happiness 

And greatness, — such as reverence of law 

And custom, justice, female chastity. 

And, with them, independence, fortitude, 

Courage, and sturdiness of purpose, — are 

Transplanted here from their maternal soil, 

And flourish undegenerate. From these — 

Sources exhaustible but with the life 

That feeds them — their severe intents take birth, 

And draw the lusty sustenance to mould 

The limbs and body of their own fulfilment, 

So that performance lag not after purpose. 

They are our countrymen : they are, as well 

In nianly resolution as in blood, 

The children of our fathers. Washington 

Doth ken no other language than the one 

We speak ; and never did an English tongue 

Give voice unto a larger, wiser mind. 

You '11 task your judgment vainly to descry, 



Scene 11.] ARNOLD AND ANDR3. 31 

Through all this desperate conflict, in his plans 

A flaw, or fault in execution. He 

In spirit is unconquerable, as 

In genius perfect. Side by side I fought 

With him in that disastrous enterprise 

Where hot-brained Braddock fell ; and there I 

marked 
The veteran's skill contend for mastery 
With youthful courage in his wondrous deeds. 
Well might the ruthless Indian warrior pause. 
Amid his massacre confounded, and 
His baffled rifle's aim, till then unerring. 
Turn from " that tall young man," and deem in 

awe ^ 

That the Great Spirit hovered over him ; 
For he, of all our mounted officers. 
Alone came out unscathed from that dread car- 
nage. 
To guard our shattered army's swifl: retreat. 
For years did his majestic form hold place 
Upon my mind, stamped in that perilous hour, 
In th' image of a stalwart friend, until 



32 ARNOLD AND ANDRE, [Act I. 

I met him next as a resistless foe. 

'T was at the fight near Princeton. In quick 

march, 
Victorious o'er his van, onward we pressed, 
When, moving with firm pace, led by the chief 
Himself, their central force encountered us. 
One moment paused th' opposing hosts, and 

then 
The rattling volley hid the death it bore ; 
Another, and the sudden cloud, uprolled, 
Revealed, midway between the adverse lines, 
His drawn sword gleaming high, the chief, — as 

though 
That crash of deadly music and the burst 
Of sulphurous vapor had from out the earth 
Summoned the god of war. Doubly imperilled 
He stood unharmed. Like eagles tempest-borne 
Rushed to his side his men ; and had our souls 
And arms with tenfold strength been braced, we 

yet 
Had not withstood that onset. Thus does he 
Keep ever with occasion even step, — 



ScExNE II.] ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. 33 

Now, mockingly before our angry speed 
Retreating, tempting us with battle's promise 
Only to toil us with a vain pursuit, — 
Now, wheeling rapidly about our flanks, 
StartUng our ears with sudden peal of war, 
And fronting in the thickest of the fight 
The common soldier's death, stirring the blood 
Of faintest hearts to deeds of bravery 
By his great presence, — and his every act, 
Of heady onslaught as of backward march, 
From thoughtful judgment first inferred. 

ROBINSON. 

If you 
Report him truly, and your la\dsh words 
Be not the wings to float a brain-born vision, 
But are true heralds who deliver what 
In corporal doings will be stern avouched. 
Then was this man born to command ; and shall 
Ingi-ate revolt be justified by fate, 
Ajid Britain's side bleed with the rendino; off 
Of this vast member ; they will find it so, 
Who seek to gain a greater liberty 



34 ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. [Act I. 

Than profitetli man's passion-mastered state. 
Jove's bird as soon shall quail his cloud-wet 

plumage, 
Sinking his sinewy wafture to the flight 
Of common pinions, — or the silent tide 
Break its mysterious law at the wind's bidding, 
Remitting for a day its mighty flood 
Upon this shore, — as that, one recognized 
To have all kingly qualities shall not 
Assert his natural supremacy, 
And weaker men submit to his full sway. 
Power doth grow unto the palm that wields it. 
The necks that bend to make ambition's seat 
Must still uphold its overtopping weight. 
Or, moving, be crushed under it. 

OLD OFFICER. 

And heads 
That quit the roof of sheltering peace, and bare 

them 
To war's fierce lightning for a principle, 
Becrown the limbs of men, each one a rock 
Baffling with loftiness ambition's step, 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 35 

Whose ladder is servility. Were they 
Susceptible of usurpation's sway, 
This conflict had not been ; and then the world 
Had missed a Washington, whose greatness is 
Of greatness born. Him have they raised, be- 
cause 
Of his great worth ; and he has headed them, 
For that they knew to value him. Had he 
Been less, then they had passed him by ; and had 
Their souls lacked nobleness, his towering trunk, 
Scanted of genial sap, had failed to reach 
Its proper altitude. No smiling time 
Is this for hypocritical ambition 
To cheat men's minds with virtue's counterfeit. 
What made him Washington, makes him the 

chief 
Of this vast league, — and that 's integrity, 
The which his regal qualities enlinks 
In one great arch, to bear the sudden weight 
Of a new cause, and, strengthening ever, hold 
Compact 'gainst time's all-whelming step. 



86 ARNOLD AND ANDR:E. [Act I. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

What now 
You speak, you '11 be reminded of, belike, 
Ere many weeks are passed ; and well I know, 
Your arm will not be backward, if there 's need, 
To prove your own words' falsity. Meanwhile, 
Hold you in readiness for sudden march. 

\_Exit Old Officer. 

EOBINSON. 

A better soldier than a prophet. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

- Yet, 
Scarce does his liberal extolment stretch 
Beyond its object's dues. Were Washington 
Not rooted in his compeers' confidence. 
And in his generalship unmatched, this league 
Had long since crumbled from within, and o'er 
Its severed bands our arms had quickly triumphed. 
In all, his mighty spirit 's ordinant. 
The while his warriors, ranged in council round 

him. 
Listen to plans of learned generalship, 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 37 

Within the Congress is his voiceless will 

Potential as the whitest senator's. 

Ever between their reehng cause and us 

Comes his stern brow, to awe fell Ruin's spirit. 

'T is a grand game he plays, and, by my soul, 

Worthy the game and player is the stake. 

A fair broad land it is for a new kingdom : 

If he can win it, let him wear it. — Still naught 

From Arnold ? Washington's keen vigilance 

Will yet defeat this plot. Delay is fatal. 

KOBINSON. 

He 's now near Arnold's post. If he depart, 
(As 't is his plan, to hold an interview 
With the French leaders at the town of Hart- 
ford,) 
We '11 know he harbors no suspicious thought ; 
And then we cannot fail. His presence there 
Is hindrance absolute to any movement, 
Whether he do suspect or not. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

This Arnold, — 
That he did vow in hate is warranty 



38 ARNOLD AND ANDRJE. [Act I. 

That what he promised he designed to do. 

But what then gave him means and power to 

compass 
His wishes' end may, too, have changed their 

bent; 
For opportunity, that oftentimes 
Creates desire, doth sometimes blunt its edge. 
The hiffh command wherewith he has been 

o 

trusted 
May heal the wound 't was sought for to re- 
quite. 
His now position is a vantage-ground. 
Whence he as easily may wipe away 
As venge his past disgrace. Beneath his malice 
Still burns th' aspiring soldier's love of fame. 
Still beats the husband's and the father's heart. 

ROBINSON. 

There 's in him no live seed of honesty. 

For the pure dews of natural affection 

To quicken with their sweetness. And the cord. 

Wherewith ambitiously he swung himself 

Aloft o'er revolution's dark abyss. 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. 39 

Has rotted in his hand ; and now he 'd leap 
Th' audacious backward leap of desperation. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

You know the passes to the fort. Can he, 
Without suspicion of his purposes, 
Expose them to our easy mastering ? 

ROBINSON. 

That can he, and deliver to our hands 
The fortress, ere the garrison have time 
To counteract their own astonishment. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

This post were worth a dozen victories. 

ROBINSON. 

It is their common magazine, wherein 
Are stored munitions for a year's campaign. 
To gain it, were to turn into ourselves 
A stream of hoarded sustenance for war, 
And by diversion of so full a spring. 
Wither in them the sinews of contention. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

Weak are they now from our late triumphs, 
And repetition of unfruitful blows. 



40 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act I. 

The sudden yawning under them of this 
Great treachery will strike their souls with awe, 
Appall their boldest, and unheart them quite. 
Can a resolve, whose execution shall 
Flash such quick desolation, lie so deep 
That no pale shadow or vague murmur come 
Presaging to the general mind ? But here 
Is Andre, and in his countenance a light 
The 'prologue to some joyful new^s. 

Enter Andre. 

What bring you ? 

ANDRE. 

Tidings that promise to our scheme a quick 
And happy consummation. Hear what I 
This moment have received : 

\^He takes out a letter^ and reads as follows ;] 

"Our master goes away on the 17th [yesterday] of 
this month. He will be absent five or six days. Let 
us avail ourselves of this interval to arrange our busi- 
ness. Come immediately and meet me at the lines, 
and we will settle definitely the risks and profits of 
the copartnership. All will be ready ; but this inter- 
view is indispensable, and must precede the sailing of 
our ship." 



Scene IL] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 41 

SIR II. CLINTON. 

Now hold he true, we fail not. Robinson, 
What think you ? Should he prove a double 
traitor ? 

ROBINSON. 

He dare not, if he would. If that his limbs 
Lay at your feet here prostrate with the load 
Of chains, more captive were he not to you 
Tlum now he is behind his trenched walls. 
Whate'er betide, he can't 'scape infamy ; 
And from no hand but ours receive its price. 
Doubly a traitor, he were doubly lost. 
His only safety lies in truth to us. 

ANDRE. 

Are we not safe, too, 'gainst his treachery ? 

We hazard nothing ; for our sorest loss 

Is but defeat of hope. And if we win, 

Our gain is infinite. Not even aught 

Of personal peril 's in the plan we spoke of. 

Seize we the moment, and a wound we give 

Shall cleave in twain rebellion's stubborn heart. 



42 ARNOLD AND ANDR^. [Act I. 

ROBIIJSON. 

This interview must be ; or else, no act. 

For, till he meet us face to face, as still 

And secret as a voiceless dream must lie 

Within his breast the thought of what he 'd do. 

CJnto no other ear dare he reveal 

The plot or means for its accomplishment. 

We must risk something 'gainst his single daring. 

The private business that 't is known I have, 

Will be our pretext openly to near 

His lines, and safeguard afterwards. A flag 

Will cover then our meeting. 

SIR H. CLINTON. 

And meanwhile, 
Troops shall embark, and be in readiness 
To move on your return. Now despatch, — 
And ere thrice thirty hours are passed, I '11 pluck 
From wary Washington's high wing a plume, 
That shall so maim its flight that to my reach 
'Twill flutter helplessly. {Exeunt. 



Scene I-l ARNOLD AND ANDRjS, 43 



ACT n. 

SCENE I. 

Arnold's Head-quarters, 
ARNOLD, alone. 

So armed is he with foresight, his broad eye 

Unknowing balks the cheating future's practice. 

He cautioned me against the flag of truce : 

To let it pass might kindle now suspicion. 

Andr^ himself will come ; and he shall meet me 

Within our lines. There is no other way. 

He 's young and venturesome ; and then his risk 

Is small to mine. And I risk naught: my life. 

A soldier's life belongs not to himself: 

'Tis war's light plaything. Mine I've often cast 

Into the cannon's red-mouthed deafening rage. 

And for this unconditioned sacrifice, 

For trophies, victories, hardships, losses, wounds. 

What have I ? . Poverty, neglect, injustice. 

Defrauded of my pay ; my claims contemned ; 



44 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

My rank, my sword- won rank, long scanted me. 
My power as foe shall teach this wrangling Con- 
gress 
My worth as friend. England is still my country. 
I 've been a rebel ; and I 'II do deep penance 

For my disloyalty. — But if they win 

What sound is that? Arnold the traitor! Ha! 

The traitor Arnold! Are my ears asleep 

And dreaming ? There ! Who spoke ? I '11 

swear I heard it. 
And now my eyes abet my ears. See there, — 
A multitude of millions, millions, stretching. 
Stretching o'er mountains, prairies, endless, end- 
less ! 
One angry voice from all, Arnold the traitor! 
'T is false ; you lie, you lie ; I am no traitor. 
I unmake what I 've made. This cause, this 

country, 
'Twas my soul warmed, 'twas my hand built it, 

mine. 
1 may uproot what I myself have planted. — 
But if I fail Now is my name emblazoned 



Scene I.] ARNOLD AND ANDRJ^. 45 

High up on Glory's time-proof column, linked 

To Washington's. Too late, 't is now too late. — 

Acrain that fearful sound ! Silence, or I 

Go mad. Am I a baby? There, 'tis hushed. 

I shame to be so shaken. Ha ! ha I ha ! 

What fools imagination makes of us. 

Ha! ha! ha! 

Enter Mrs. Arnold. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

What hast thou ? 

ARNOLD. 

Didst thou hear naught? 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Hear ! Where ? What ails thee ? 

ARNOLD. 

Nothing, nothing, nothing. 
I 've had ill news again from Congress ; that 's all. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

The thankless men ! 

ARNOLD. 

In Philadelphia, tell me, 
What didst thou gather? 



46 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

That your enemies 
Are strong as aje, and still more bitter. 

ARNOLD. 

Ha! 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Some dare to say you are not worth this post. 

ARNOLD. 

Ha ! say they so ? — (^Aside.^ I '11 prove them 

prophets yet. — 
But of the war what 's thought ? 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

That it cannot last 
Much longer. Some, the bolder, say so freely ; 
Some whisper it ; and some, the timid ones, 
Shrug up their shoulders and look blank ; but all 
Are sick of it, and sigh for speedy peace. 
While I was there came news of Gates's rout. 
Men were aghast. The hopefullest faces fell. 
The streets all hissed with railing : some at Gates, 
Others at Washington, the most at Congress. 
Three out of four are ready for submission ; 



Scene L] ARNOLD AND ANDR:E. 47 

And should there come another big defeat, 
The Congress will not hold a week together. 
Oh, would that chance, which drops us where it 

lists, 
Had planted you upon the other side ! 



ARNOLD. 



You 'd have me quit a losing cause 



MRS. ARNOLD. 



Nay, nay. 
The cause is yours, for better or for worse. 
You're married to it. So lono; ao^o was done 
This work of spiteful chance, the seed hath 

grown 
To such a stature, that to wrench it now 
Would tear up honor by the bleeding roots, 
And cast you level with its prostrate trunk. 
Oh, no ! My maiden hopes, 't is true, were Eng- 
lish ; 
And I with Andrd and the rest have lauo-hed. 
How many a time, — spoilt nursling that I 

was, — 
At Continental rago-edness and shifts. 



48 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

But now I 'm Arnold's wife ; and from the day 
That I consented to be that, the cause, 
Whereof he is a trusted chief, is mine. " 
And, know you, I begin to honor it, 
/To spy a greatness 'hind its shrunken visage. 
In Philadelphia my old friends and I, 
We ano-ered one another with warm words 
And daily contradiction. Washington, 
Your friend, our towering head, the man of men, 
Even he escapes not their coarse jests and ran- 
cor. 
The more they jibed, the more my thoughts 

hugged thee 
And our dear boy ; and from their banterings 
I fled to waking dreams of his great future, — 
How his illustrious name will usher him 
To eminence in the hard-won Republic ; 
How in the street people will smile upon him, 
And gray-haired men will boast they knew his 

father. 
And now I think of it, 'tis two days since 
Thou hast asked to see him. 



Scene I-l ARNOLD AND ANDR:E. 49 

ARNOLD. 

Is he well ? 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

A lump 
Of rosy health, and hourly more like thee. 

[Arnold bursts into tears.] 

Great Heaven ! My husband ! What hast thou ? 

thou 'rt ill. 
Never before did I behold thee weep. 

ARNOLD. 

I 'm ill, — to horse, to horse, — I must i' th' air. 

Enter an Attendant. 

ATTENDANT. 

A letter, sir, this moment brought in haste. 

ARNOLD. 

Ha ! from whom ? [Exit Attendant, 

[Arnold tears open the letter^ and devours its contents."] 

I must away on th' instant. 

[Rushes out. 
MRS. ARNOLD, gazhig at him astounded, and then wildly. 

Ha ! — No. — Oh, agony ! it cannot be. [Exit. 

4 



50 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 



SCENE II. 

Cabin of the British &loop-of-war " Vulture" lying in 
the Hudson River, a few miles below Kinfs Ferry, 
toivards midnight, September 21s^. 

Colonel Robinson, Major Andre, and Captain Sutherland, com- 
mander of the ''^Vulturey 

ANDRE. 

You '11 pardon me, Captain, for thinking, spite 
of my quarters and my company, that this sail- 
or's life up a river is as tedious as fishing with 
an unbated hook. It 's neither Avork nor play. 

SUTHERLAND. 

I am entirely of your mind. Major. It smacks 
too much of the land-service for my palate. But 
have patience. Your friend, General Arnold, will 
soon relieve you. 

ANDRE. 

The General is as cautious in his diplomacy as 
he is headlong in the field. If he come not to- 
night, I shall think he has changed his mind. 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDR^, 51 

ROBINSON. 

Whether his mind be changed or not, he can- 
not now retreat. We have too strono; a cord 
round liis neck for that. 

[27«e watch on deck strikes eight bells.] 

ANDRE. 

What's that? Not midnight. 

SUTHERLAND. 

Aye, all of it. 

OFFICER OF THE WATCH, Oil the deck obove. 

Boat alio J ! 

ROBINSON. 

Hark ! There he is. 

VOICE, from the boat. 

A friend. 

OFFICER, on deck. 

Where from, and whither bound ? 

VOICE. 

From King's Ferry to Dobbs's Ferry. 

OFFICER, on deck. 

You lubberly land-shark, how dare you, under 
cover of the night, get within the buoys of one 



52 ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. [Act II. 

of His Majesty's ships? Spring your lufF and 
come along-side, you son of a sea-cook, or I '11 
deaden your headway before you can say your 
prayers. 

ANDKlfi. 

A savory salutation that to a major-general. 



SUTHERLAND. 



That's old Rowley, the best deck-officer in the 
service. — Murphy! QEnter a hoy,) A man has 
just come on deck from a boat. Go up and 
bring him to the cabin. 

MURPHY. 

Ay, ay, sir. [/areV. 

BOBINSON. 

We are not sure that this is Arnold. It will 
be prudent for you, Major Andr^, to withdraw 
into your state-room. 

ANDRE. 

You were ever a good mentor, Colonel. [Exii. 

Enter Smith. 

ROBINSON. 

Mr. Smith, I believe. 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDR^, 63 

SMITH. 

Colonel Robinson, I'm glad to see you again. 
I bring you a letter from General Arnold. 

^Gives the letter^ which Bobinson readsJ] 

ROBINSON. 

Have you any other papers ? 

SMITH. 

Two passports. 

[Gives them to Bobinson.] 

KOBINSON. 

This one (reading') authorizes you "to go to 
Dobbs's Ferry to carry some letters of a private 
nature for a gentleman in New York, and to re- 
turn immediately." The other is a " permission 
to Joshua Smith, Mr. John Anderson, and two 
servants, to pass and repass the guards near 
King's Ferry, at all times." Where is General 
Arnold? 

SMITH. 

He waits at the landing, where I left him half 
an hour since. 



54 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 



ROBINSON. 



Mr. Smith, I '11 leave you for a few moments 
with Captain Sutherland. {Exit. 

SUTHERLAND. 

Take a seat, sir. (^Both sitS) When do you 
think, Mr. Smith, this war will end. 

SMITH. 

When there shall be neither a British soldier 
on our soil, nor a British gun in our waters. 

SUTHERLAND. 

Oh ! then you prize the war so much, you mean 
to leave it as an heirloom to your grandchildren ? 

SMITH. 

I give you our final terms, come what may. 

SUTHERLAND. 

But, seriously, your side looks very black just 
now. 

SMITH. 

It has looked black from the first, and looks 
now blacker than ever ; but it is the blackness 
of the thunder-cloud, — the blacker it is, the more 
lightning there is in it. 



Scene IL] ARNOLD AND ANDRjS. S5 



SUTHERLAND. 



Well said, by Jove. It can't be denied, there 's 
good stuff in your fellows. And for my part, 
Mr. Smith, I tell you frankly, I hate this war, 
and heartily wish it over, — ■ aye, and I '11 say 
more, — I wish it over without loss of honor to 
either side. 

SMITH. 

I wish, then, from my heart, Captain Suther- 
land, that you were Prime-Minister of England. 
Permit me, though, to say, that we might with- 
out loss of honor lose our cause ; and that, would 
not suit our temper. Honor is a good thing, 
useful at times, as well as ornamental ; but it 
follows in the wake of our cause, and if we lose 
that, we shall not take the trouble to j)iek honor 

U,). 

SUTHERLAND. 

You count largely on your French allies. 

SMITH. 

More on their hatred of you than on their 
love for us. 



56 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

SUTHEKLAND. 

They say that General Washington is gone to 
Hartford to meet the French commanders. 

SMITH. 

Captain, how many spies do you keep in your 
service ? 

SUTHERLAND. 

Always, Mr. Smith, one less than you keep 
in yours. 

Reenter Colonel Robinson, accompanied by Major Andre, in a 
blue overcoat ivith cape close buttoned. 

ROBINSON. 

Mr. Smith, I am not well enough to go out 
in an open boat in the night. My friend here, 
Mr. Anderson, understands the business about 
which the General and I were to confer, and is 
ready to accompany you. 

SMITH. 

The business is yours. Colonel, and not mine. 
I am but a go-between 'twixt you and the Gen- 
eral, happy to serve both of you in any honor- 
able way. It is already so late, I advise that 
we start at once. 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDR^. 57 



Andre'. 



The sooner the better. Farewell, Colonel ; fare- 
well, Captain. 

ROBINSON. 

God bless you, my friend. Don't forget your 
instructions. 

ANDRE. 

No fear of that. 

ROBINSON. 

Farewell. 



Gentlemen, good night. ^Exeunt Smith and Andre. 

ROBINSON. 

This business disquiets me. Captain. I opposed 
Andre's going on shore; but he is eager, and 
would not be overruled. I have misgivings. 

SUTHERLAND. 

I see no cause for them. 

ROBINSON. 

Think what a man we are deahng with. Of 
Andre's safety what thought will he take who is 
capable of such a treason ? 



58 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

SUTHERLAND. 

But observe how thoughtful he has been of 
his own safety ; and henceforth that is bound 
closely up with the safety of Andrd. 

ROBINSON. 

True, but villains are so apt to be botchers ; 
they leave a flaw somewhere, villany so blinds 
the judgment. From a bad heart there rises 
into the brain a sickly breath that dims the 
mind's vision. We will hope for the best. 

[ExeunU 



SCENE ni. 

Foot of a mountain called the Long Glove^ on the 
western shore of the river, several miles below Stony 
Point. One hour and a half after midnight, Sep- 
tember 22d. 

ARNOLD, alone. 

I like to be alone, and in the night. 
Darkness and my deep purpose are attuned ; 
For that is dark and natural as night, 



Scene III.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE, 59 

Aye, and as wholesome too. Wherefore not 

wholesome ? 
Strong men are their own law. 'T is meant 

they should be. 
Else, wherefore have they that which builds the 

world ? 
Poor weaklings pile about their httleness 
A rampart of conventions, which the strong 
Storm with their intellectual squadrons deep, 
Making the garrison slaves irredeemable. 
Let them cry shame and conscience as they will. 
Conscience, forsooth ! Where are there two alike ? 
Fools set their conscience by their neighbors' 

wants. 
My wants — they are a liberal hungry crew — 
Make mine. Life is a game, where strong will 

wins, 
A war, where stratagem and force are victors. 
Never from boyhood have I dreaded aught. 
Shall I begin so late, and wince with fear 
Before the chief of changelings, vile opinion, 
The whitest coward of the coward world ? 



60 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

Traitor! England calls Washington a traitor. 
What if I help to prove him one. I hate him, 
With his chill stateliness, his wise reserve, 
His stubborn prudence, and his calm directness. 
Of all the men I 've known, only with him 
I am not at my ease. It angers me, 
To feel my nature is rebuked by his. 
A withering frost I '11 be to his young greatness. 
Striking with palsy their pale bankrupt cause. 
In this coarse world failure is ignominy. — 
The night wears fast away. 'Tis time he camer 
Had I been sure of Smith, myself had gone. 
It had been quicker done. But he 's so vain. 
The best of marplots is glib vanity. 
The night is cool. I'll walk awhile. iwithdraws. 
Enter Smith loith Andre. 

SMITH, cautiously. 

General! General! I left him hereabout. I'll 
seek him. He will not be far. ^exU 

ANDRE, alone. 

Moments there are when thought is so ablaze 
With all the fires that have inflamed a life, 



Scene III.] ARNOLD AND ANDR:E. 61 

That memory is one great grasping light, 

Flashed on the present from the total past. 

I seem not to have lived till now, so burning 

Is my new consciousness. 'T is said that men. 

In the last agony of drowning, are 

Thus flooded with their faded motley years 

In one fresh rounded instantaneous picture, — 

Life gathering to a point its ^scattered beams. 

To shine its earthly last with warmest flush. 

And, robed in full collected brightness, usher 

The rising soul to a diviner home. 

My mind 's aglow with happiest light, possessed 

As by illuminated memories. 

There, they are fading, fading fast, like to th' ebb 

From blissful clouds of golden beams at evening. 

What a vast waking dream ! so strangely true, — 

A sudden blossomy limning of my life 

By beauty's cleansing brush. 'T is going, — gone. 

Come back, come back, and wrap me yet awhile 

In 



[His arm is grasped by Arnold, who has just reenter ed.\ 

General Arnold ! 



62 ARNOLD AND ANDRJS. [Act II. 

ARNOLD. 

Major Anclre ! 

ANDRE. 

Are we alone ? 

ARNOLD. 

We are. A momentous business is this we 
have to do. Are you fully empowered. 

ANDRE. 

Fully. We stand on neutral ground? 

ARNOLD 

Aye ; no fear. 

Enter Smith. 

SMITH. 

General, you know the boat must be sent up 
the river before daybreak. 

ARNOLD. 

For that there 's time enough. The boatmen 
can sleep an hour on their oars. Let us (J:o 
Andre) withdraw a little from the shore. 

[Arnold and Andre xoithdraw. 
SMITH, alone. 

Humph ! He treats me as though I were one 



Scene III.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 63 

of his corporals. What can he have to say to a 
Tory that an honest ear might not hsten to ? 
Your great men always have secrets. Mystery 
is the garment of greatness ; it helps to keep it 
warm. But what is to keep me warm ? To 
play sentinel in this air for an hour would give 
me a tertian, if I had not one already. 

Enter Arnold. 

ARNOLD. 

Smith, we can't finish our business here. Send 
the boat round to the creek, and follow us up 
to the house. [^exH 

SMITH. 

The General's voice is always set to the mili- 
tary pitch. Orders come as glib from his tongue 
as foul speech from a sailor. Well, I 'm thankful 
to be let off so easily. Colqulioun ! ( Calling.^ 
Colquhoun ! These two boatmen brothers make 
good the saying, Coarse feeders, sound sleepers. 
Colquhoun ! But there 's no use in calling. 
Fellows that snore like the croak of a pond of 
bull-frogs praying for rain, will not wake before 



G4 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

dawn to anything less than a twenty-four pounder. 
By fist, not tongue, are they to be roused. 

\_Exit on the side opposite to thai at which Arnold loent out. 



SCENE IV. 

A room in Smith's house, early morning. 

Arnold and Andri5, seated at a table with writing materials. 
Andre in his uniform coat. 

ANDRE, rising. 

They Avere the last orders Sir Henry Clinton 
gave me, positive orders, to take no papers. 

ARNOLD, remains seated. 

Then Sir Henry Clinton cannot take West 
Point. Have you. Major, the memory of Mithri- 
dates ? Can you, by word of mouth, deliver to 
Sir Henry a plan of the whole system of de- 
fences at West Point : the number and calibre 
of guns in each fort, redoubt, and batter}^ ; the 
construction, size, and strength of each ; the 
amount and quality of the force within the 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. Q^ 

works ; and the distribution of the several corps 
in case of alarm? All these details, full, pre- 
cise, without error, Sir Henry must have, before 
he, with hope of success, can move against a 
position so fortified. Without this key of knowl- 
edge, the post remains locked against him in 
spite of us both. Even with it there would be 
in the assault some loss of life. What matters 
it whether you risk yours then or now ? it 's for 
the same end. For a soldier, methinks, you cal- 
culate adverse chances too curiously. 

ANDRE. 

My life is my King's; but my honor is my 
own. 

ARNOLD. 

That thought comes to you some hours too 
late. 

ANDR^, aside. 

The villain is right. 

ARNOLD. 

Come, Major, be calm. Your risk is less than 
mine ; and see how cool I am. After all, the 



QQ ARNOLD AND ANDRJS. [Act II. 

danger is not much ; and for clearing what there 
is, trust to chance, or if you like the word bet- 
ter, to Providence. 

ANDRE, aside. 

That I should be closely coupled with such a 
wretch ! Ever since I met him, my blood creeps 
like that of a coward. 

ARNOLD. 

Pardon me for reminding you of the greatness 
of your mission. At this moment you are the 
most important man in His Majesty's service. 
On your doing well what you were sent to do, 
hangs the issue of this war. This one success 
makes your fortune. 

ANDRE. 

Give me the papers. 

ARNOLD, rising. 

There are six of them, Qgives them,') each one 
labelled. Those papers are too cheap at ten 
thousand pounds. 

ANDRE. 

That is the limit of my power. 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 67 

ARNOLD. 

Were I face to face with Sir Henry, he 
should double that sum. Say to him that I 
expect it. Now, the sooner he moves the bet- 
ter, and the day must be at once determined. 
This is Friday, the 22d. In three days, at far- 
thest, Washington will have returned from Hart- 
ford. And he will return by West Point to 
inspect the works : I know him. To that he 
will give a day, no more ; it needs no more ; 
he is no spendthrift of time. In five days from 
this the coast will be clear. Let Sir Henry 
move on Tuesday evening. The instant news 
of your approach reaches the garrison, I will — 
in so far as I can without causing suspicion — 
weaken' the main points. Under pretence of en- 
countering you, I will send out corps, so sepa- 
rated that they cannot at once aid one the other. 
They will be stationed in the gorges westward. 
Keep your main body closer to the river. This 
I 've already told you : I repeat it ; it is important. 

[A cannon is heard.'] 



68 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II 

ANDKE, alarmed. 

What 's that ? (Another shot.') We are betrayed. 

Enter Smith. 

ARNOLD. 

Smith, what is that firing? 

SMITH. 

At the " Vulture," from the shore. 

ANDR^. 

But can they reach her ? ( Going to the win- 
dotv ; cannon-shots continue.') Ha! that they can. 
She looks as though she were on fire. There, 
she is moving. 

SMITH, aside to Arnold, seeing Andre's uniform. 

What ! is he a British officer ? 

ARNOLD. 

Oh, no ! A fop of a fellow, a New York 
cockney, who borrowed a uniform to look big in. 

SMITH. 

He '11 feel small enough if he is cauo;ht in it. 

ANDKE. 

Why, the " Vulture " is dropping down the 
river! I shall not be able to set back to her. 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDEA 69 

ARNOLD. 

She '11 not have to go far to get out of 
reach of those guns. It 's only Colonel Living- 
ston keeping his hand in. 

SMITH. 

And even if the sloop had not budged, the 
boatmen will not row out to her again. 

ANDRE. 

But I must be put on board. I demand that. 
General Arnold, I have a right to demand so 
much. 

SMITH. 

Young gentleman, if you are a good swimmer, 
and a good diver to boot, to dodge the bullets 
that might happen to be sent after you, you 
may board the sloop. 

[Arnold takes Smith on one stdeJ] 

ANDRE. 

To be at the mercy of these two I This is no 
business for a gentleman. I 've been over-zealous. 
So much for playing spy. Spy ! Does a spy wear 
this coat ? No, no ! it 's not so bad as that. 



70 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act II. 

^Arnold and Smith 7'eiurn.] 

ARNOLD. 

Mr. Anderson, my friend Smith promises to 
get you on board, if he can. If not, he will 
escort you safely beyond our outposts. I '11 give 
you a passport that will be full protection. 

ANDRE. 

I must be content. 

ARNOLD, to Andre. 

He 's bound to me. He '11 do the best he can. 
The hazard 's small. The passport will carry you 
tlirough to your own lines. People are passing 
to and fro every day. Those papers, — in case of 
accident, destroy them ; then we are both safe. 
They are the only evidence against us. Not to 
a soul on our side is the object of this meeting 
known. For greater secrecy, hide them in your 
boots. — Mr. Smith, I must return up the river. 
In your charge I leave Mr. Anderson. — Give 
my best regards to Colonel Robinson, Mr. An- 
derson. Tell him the affair shall be settled to 
suit him. Farewell. (^Coming hack.') Mr. An- 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 71 

derson, you had better change that borrowed red 
coat for a plain one. 

\_Exeunt, Jirst Arnold on one side, then Smith on the other. 
ANDRE, alone, loohing first after Arnold, then after Smith. 

Now that they 're gone, I draw a better breath. 
Their presence stifled me. I know not why, 
But while they were beside me, it did seem 
As they were plotters 'gainst my life. Since 

Arnold 
Grasped in the dark upon the shore my arm, 
I have not been myself. That touch was ven- 

omed : 
It shrivelled up my nerves. I am unmanned ; 
I have the conscience of a quaking culj)rit ; 
My fancies are as pale as a sick mother's. 
Poh ! Poll ! A soldier must not let imagination 
Unheart him. I have work to do, great work. 
He 's right : it can't be done without these war- 
rants. 

[He taJces out the papers, and seats himself at the table.] 

[The curtain drops.] 



72 ARNOLD AND ANDR£. [Act IH. 



ACT III. 

SCENE I. 

Half a mile above Tarrytown, hy the road-side among 
trees, about ten d'cloch in the morning of September 
2Sd. 
Paulding, Williams, and Van Wart, lying on the ground. 

PAULDING. 

Did you say, Isaac, that the cow-boys have 
been seen this week above Pine Bridge ? 



VAN WART. 



Aye, and felt too ; for they carried off a cow 
from a Dutch woman three miles beyond the 
bridge. 



WILLIAMS. 



^ The saucy varlets. Why, that 's four or five 
miles higher up than North Castle, Colonel Jam- 
ie son's station. Where was he with his drao-oons ? 



PAULDING. 



Fast asleep. The Colonel is too slow for the 



Scene I.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 73 

work that 's wanted in these parts. I warrant 

you, if the marauding rascals come so near to 

Captain Boyd, they '11 catch a Tartar instead of 
a cow. 

WILLIAMS. 

The skinners, too, have been busy above 
White Plains. 

PAULDING. 

The pirates ! They are worse than the cow- 
boys. They belong to neither side, and pillage 
both. David, what 's o'clock, think you ? past 
nine ? 

WILLIAMS. 

Nearer to ten than nine, I should say, by the 
sun. 

PAULDING. 

This lying down in the daytime is hard both 
for bones and brains. 

WILLIAMS. 

It 's the worst work I ever tried ; but should 
a brace of cattle come along with their noses to 
the south, it will pay. 



74 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act III. 

PAULDING. 

That 's a wise law, that gives cattle for the 
enemy to the captors. But this waiting on 
chance is sorry work after all for two-fisted 
men. 

VAN WART. 

There comes somebody on liorseback, that looks 
like a gentleman. He has boots on. If you don't 
know him, Mr. Paulding, you had better make 
him stop. 

Enter Major Andre on horseback. 

PAULDING, icho has risen, presents his Jirehck. 

Stand. Where are you going ? 

ANDRE. 

I hope, my friends, you are of our party. 

PAULDING. 

Which party ? 

ANDR^. 

The lower party. 

PAULDING. 

That 's ours. 



Scene L] ARNOLD AND ANDRlS. 75 

ANDRE. 

Then we are friends. I am a British officer 
out on particular business. Let me pass, and 
take this. (^Offering his watch.) 

PAULDING. 

Keep your watch, sir ; you must dismount. 

ANDRt:. 

Why, what good will it do you to stop me. 
It may do you harm ; for, see here, I have a 
pass from General Arnold. QCrives the passport to 
Paulding, and then dismounts.) If you detain 
me, you may get yourselves into trouble. I 'm 
on my way to Dobbs's Ferry, on the General's 
business. 

PAULDING. 

You seem to be a gentleman, sir ; and we 
mean you no harm. But there are bad people 
about, and in these times it 's hard to tell friend 
from foe. You must submit to be searched. 

WILLIAMS. 

Step this way, sir, and take off your clothes. 



76 ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. [Act HI. 

If you are on an honest errand, no harm will 
come to you. 

\^Willianis and Van Wari withdraw with Andre jmt outside the 
stage.] 

PAULDING. 

A British officer, in disguise, with a passport 
from General Arnold. That 's odd. And how- 
anxious he seems. "When I told him to dismount, 
he turned pale. There 's something crooked, 
which we may be the means of straightening. 
(^Reenter Van Wart,') Do you find any papers ? 

VAN WART 

Nothing ; and we 've searched him thoroughly. 

PAULDING, going to the side. ~ 

Williams, look into his boots. 

WILLIAMS. 

There 's nothing in this one. ^Showing it, and 
turning it upside down.') — What 's that in your 
stocking ? Off with it. — Here are papers. 
Paulding, you can read. 

[ Gives Paulding th e papers.'] 



Scene I.] ARNOLD AND ANDRJS, 77 



PAULDING. 



What 's this ? Artillery orders at West Point. 
And here 's one marked, "■ Estimate of the 
force at West Point and its dependencies." 
WilUams, search the other foot. If he is not a 
spy, I don't know how to read. 

WILLIAMS. 

Here are three more. 

\^Give$ them to Paulding.'] 

PAULDING, reading. 

" Report of a Council of War on the Cam- 
paign." "Description of the w^orks at West 
Point." There's treason, somewhere, — nothing 
less. Some black plot. What, a providence that 
we were at this very spot at this very hour ! 
Kpep your eye on him, Isaac. He 's a prize. 
We must take him right off to North Castle. 
That 's the nearest station. 

[Andre, who has re-dressed, advances. Paulding and the other 
two talk low apart.] 

ANDKE, aside. 

Sooner or later a curse doth ever follow false- 



78 A UN OLD AND ANDRE. [Act III. 

hood. How quick it falls on me. Till now my 
life was true. This is my first lie, and I am 
caught in it, — caught acting a monstrous false- 
hood. Oh, what a fool I 've been ! , They 
should have chosen some sharper, harder instru- 
ment for such a work. — I blame no one but 
myself. • — What will be my fate ? — I dare not 
think of it. 

[^Rests his head againsl a tree.'] 



PAULDING. 



I tell you, this is a great day's work. Few of 
the generals have done a better. 



Think you so ? 



WFLLIAMS. 



PAULDING. 



Aye. Had that man got to New York with 
those papers, in a week the English would have 
had West Point. And then, good bye to our 
cause. 

VAN WART. 

Indeed ! '' 



Scene 1] ARNOLD AND ANDR^. 79 

rAULDING. 

Mark me : when this repubUc shall have grown 
great, — which it will do faster than ever yet a 
nation on the earth, — and shall be as strong as 
old England herself 

WILLIAMS. 

As strong as England I 

PAULDING. 

Aye, it will take but two or three genera- 
tions for that; — for this day's doings, tens of 
milUons will know the napies of us three, and 
speak them with thanks, and will hand them 
down to be blessed by their children's children, to 
the twentieth generation ; and on this very spot 
where we stand will gather a great crowd, — 
which our children may hve to see, — and raise 
a monument to our memory. 

VAN WART. 

What ! a monument ! 

PAULDING. 

Aye. And thereon, in large, deep letters, your 
name, Isaac, will be cut. Now to our prisoner. 



80 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act III. 

See how he 's troubled. I should n't wonder if 
he turns out to be a British general. 

WILLIAMS, to Andre. 

Now, what will you give us to let you go ? 

ANDRlS. 

Anything you name. 

WILLIAMS. 

Will you give your horse, saddle, bridle, watch, 
and one hundred guineas ? 

ANDRE. 

And a hundred apiece to each of you besides, 
and as much more in dry goods, and have them 
delivered at this very spot, or anywhere that you 
shall name. 

PAULDING. 

Not for ten thousand guineas would we let you 
go. Here is some dark plot against 'the American 
cause, and you, Mr. Anderson, as your passport 
calls you, are an agent in it. Had you this pass- 
port directly from General Arnold's hand ? 

ANDRE. 

Ask me no questions. 



Scene II.] ARNOLD AND ANDR]^. 81 

PAULDING. 

When did you see General Arnold? 

ANDRE. 

Bring m-e to one of your commanders. To 
him I will reveal all. 

PAULDING. 

Forward, then, to North Castle. ^Exeunt. 



SCENE n. 

Arnold's Head-quarters, opposite West Point, September 
25th. Bre^kfast-tahle set for ten or eleven persons. 
Arnold, Mrs. Arnold, Major Varick, Arnold's aide-de-camp. 



MRS. ARNOLD. 



Husband, he sent direct word that with his 
suite he would be here to breakfast ? 

ARNOLD. 

Yes ; and the Commander-in-Chief is an early 

riser. You '11 hear their tramp presently. Had 

he named the hour, we should be sure of him : 

he is the most punctual man in his camp. Ah ! 

6 



82 ARNOLD AND ANDRJ^. [Act III. 

here he is. (Enter Colonel Hamilton and Major 
3IcIIenry,^ Welcome, gentlemen. Where 's the 
General ? _^ "" 

HAMILTON. 

He turned off towards the river, to inspect the 
works before dismountino;. He sends us to re- 
quest that you will not wait breakfast for him. 

ARNOLD. 

Mrs. Arnold, this is Colonel Alexander Hamil- 
ton, aide-de-camp to General Washington ; Major 
McHenry, aide-de-camp to the Marquis Lafayette. 
The ordei's of the Commander-in-Chief, whatever 
they may be, must be obeyed; so, we will go 
to breakfast. 'Come, gentlemen. (All sit at the 
table.') This ride to Hartford has been a pleas- 
ant holiday to you. How did you like our 
French allies? 

HAMILTON. 

We liked them much. But what we like 
even better than them is the effect the inter- 
view with Count Rochambeau has had on Gen- 
eral Washington. We all observe that he is less 



Scene H.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 83 

silent and more cheerful since we left Hartford 
than on the journey thither. 

ARNOLD. 

What is the amount of the land-force the 
Count has brought over ? 

McHENRY. 

Between sk and seven thousand choice troops. 

ARNOLD. 

Any artillery? 

McHENRY. 

A larger train than belongs to such a force ; 
both heavy and light guns. 

[Enter an Attendant, who gives Arnold a letter, and retires-l 
ARNOLD, who with difficulty conceals his emotion while reading the letter. 

I am called, gentlemen, across the river to 
West Point. Say to General Washington that I 
have been suddenly summoned on business. [Exit. 

HAMILTON. 

The General, I fear, has had bad news. That 
letter seemed to disturb him. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

I thought so too. 



84 ARNOLD AND ANDRJS. [Act III. 

\Enter an Attendant and whispers to Mrs. Arnold, who hastily 
quits the room, followed by the Attendant.'] 

HAMILTON. 

Our host and hostess being both called away, 
let us, gentlemen, seek the party on horseback. 

VARICK. 

With all my heart. It is some time since I 
saw the Commander-in-Chief. [Exeunt. 



SCENE m. 

Mrs. Arnold's chamber; a cradle near the bed. 

Arnold, then Mrs. Arnold. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

What is it ? Thou 'rt pale ! 

ARNOLD. 

We must part on the instant, — perhaps for- 
ever. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Part ! Oh, Heaven ! what mean'st thou ? 



Scene III.] ARNOLD AND ANDRE. 85 

ARNOLD. 

I 've played a bold game and lost. My life is 
forfeit. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Thy life ! 

ARNOLD. 

Unless I reach the enemy's Hnes, I 'm lost. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

The enemy ! Oh, my fears ! Thon art lost 
indeed. Why didst thou not confide in me, 
thy wife ? Thou didst repulse me. I never 
had betrayed thee, — I might have saved thee. 
And my boy ! ( Throws herself on her knees he- 
fore the cradle.') Oh, my poor child ! 

ARNOLD. 

I must be gone. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Tell me all. I yet may save thee. 

ARNOLD. 

Too late, too late. Andre's taken. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Andr^ I 



86 ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. [Act III. 

ARNOLD. 

Farewell ! Farewell ! My very life-blood ebbs 
with every minute lost. 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

I '11 go with thee. And our boy. Wilt thou 
desert us ? 

ARNOLD. 

Wilt thou see me die ? 

MRS. ARNOLD. 

Fly ! fly ! Away ! away ! 

[^Arnold kisses the child and then embraces her. She swoons in 
his ai^ms.'] 

ARNOLD. 

Great Heaven ! she faints. And I must leave 
her thus ! (^Lays her on the bed.') Wife ! Wife ! 
Oh, wTetch that I am ! lEushes out. 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDRIIS, 87 



SCENE IV. 

Head-quarters of General Washington, at Tappan, Sep- 
tember SOth. Street in the village. 

Enter Colonel Hamilton, aide-de-camp to Washington, and Major 
Varick, aid to Arnold. 

HAMILTON. 

He dies to-morrow. 

VARICK. 

Has the Commander-in-Chief signed the sen- 
tence ? 

HAMILTON. 

Not yet. He vi^ill sign it to-day. 'T is the 
hardest duty he ever had to do. 

VARICK. 

"What a fate for a young, generous gentleman ! 

HAMILTON. 

As bitter to him, poor fellow, as his capture 
was to us providentially merciful. A full, fair 
trial he has had by a jury, than which one 
more enlightened and honorable never gave a 



88 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act III. 

verdict. Six Major- Generals, — Greene, Presi- 
dent, and with him, Stirhng, St. Clair, Lafay- 
ette, Howe, Steuben ; and eight Brigadiers, — 
Parsons, Clinton, Knox, Glover, Patterson, Hand, 
Huntington, Stark. To justice never was given 
by a tribunal a stronger bond than that sealed 
by the character of these fourteen officers. 

VARICK. 

Was there no dissentient voice ? 

HAMILTON. 

Finally, none. Two or three members of the 
board, prompted by humanity, started some tech- 
nical objections, but could not sustain them. 
Andre bears his doom like a soldier, and, by his 
gentleness and dignity, wins all who approach 
him. 

VARICK. 

In battle how light a thing it is to give or 
take death. But in calm blood, by deliberate 
judgment to cut off the life of a fellow-being, — 
the brain trembles over its work. The tliought 
of Andre must light a hell in Arnold's breast. 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDRJE. 89 

HAMILTON. 

In his breast there is not glow enough to 
kindle the fires of conscience. His nature is 
ruthless and shameless. Think of his writing a 
defiant, threatening letter to the Commander-in- 
Chief. 

Enter Sergeant Briggs, accompanied by another sergeant. 

BRIGGS. 

Can you tell me, Colonel Hamilton, has Gen- 
eral Washington signed the sentence? 

HAMILTON 

Not yet. 

BRIGGS. 

But he will sign it ? 

HAMILTON. 

'Tis said he will. 

BRIGGS. 

I knew he would. 

HAMILTON. 

How did you know it? 

BRIGGS. 

Because he ought to sign it; and he never yet 



90 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act III. 

failed, and never will fail, to do what lie ought 
to do. 

HAMILTON. 

Some think he ought not to sign it. 

BRIGGS. 

Tories and traitors and love-sick girls. 

HAMILTON. 

Sergeant, you seem much moved. 

BRIGGS. 

Moved ! I have n't slept for a week for dream- 
ing. The instant I close my eyes, I see the 
cursed red-coats pouring up the heights, — our 
men scattered and flying, shot down like rab- 
bits, — officers bewildered, — all dismayed, all be- 
trayed. They 've scaled Fort Putnam ! There ! 
the royal ensign waves above it ! And that 
wakes me ; and I cry for joy to find I 've 
been dreaming. I shall do nothing but dream 
o' nights while Andre lives. But there 's one 
condition on which I 'd spare his life. 

HAMILTON. 

What's that? 



Scene IV.] ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. 91 

BRIGGS. 

Their giving us Arnold in his place. Oh, for 
that, I 'd hug Andre with my one arm. I have 
but the one ; but look you. Colonel, I '11 lay it on 
a block, and you may hew it off inch by inch to 
the shoulder, if thereby we can clutch that — 
what shall I say — traitor ! There have been 
traitors before ; but Arnold is something diaboli- 
cally new. 

VARICK. 

Now that his villany is baffled, what have we 
to gain by taking the life of poor Andre ? 

BRIGGS. 

Poor Andr^, — what to gain ? I knew a man, 
a brave one. I saw him fight at Princeton, — a 
young, strong man and true. He left a wife and 
babe at home in Monmouth. The day before 
yesterday came a letter telling him his wife was 
ill unto death. No mother, no sister, no brother, 
near her. The poor man was beside himself with 
grief. In that state he deserted. He was taken ; 
and yesterday, within twelve hours of his capture, 



92 ARNOLD AND ANDR£. [Act III. 

he was shot ; and it was right that he was, — it 
was right. And a British officer, by the British 
Commander-in-Chief sent with most mahgnant 
purpose, comes within our hnes under a false 
name, under a false character, in disguise, at 
midnight, to plot with the worst enemy our cause 
could have, — to plot the ruin of that cause by 
one great perfidious blow, — goes away in the 
dark, hicUng in his boots the plans and papers to 
make that blow unfailing; this man, who came 
upon us stealthily, like a thief in the night, and 
went out like a thief in the night, carrying with 
him a key to our very citadel of safety, — a man, 
who, by means gotten through his own double, 
treble falsehood and the deep treason of his black 
accomplice, would, within a week, have compassed 
the stronghold of our territory, shattered our army, 
struck despair to the whole country's heart, per- 
haps, aye, quite possibly, made captive "Washing- 
ton himself, — this man, — this man is poor Andre ! 
Hanging 's too good for him. 

[Exit, followed by his companion, tvho makes an energetic ges- 
ture of sympathy and approval. 



Scene V.] ARNOLD AND ANDR^, 93 

VARICK. 

Colonel, there 's marrow in that man's bones. 

HAMILTON. 

Aye, Major; that's the stuff that carried us 
into this war, and will carry us through it. 

\_Exeunt. 



SCENE V. 

A Hall 



At the farther end General Washington, seated at a table, 'with his 
face to the audience, takes a j^en. The fourteen Generals who 
formed the Board of Inquiry that sat on Andre are standing about 
the table on his right and left, looking at him sign the sentence, 
which he does. He then rises, gives the paper to General Greene, 
President of the Board, bows to the Generals and retires, they all 
bowing deferentially. 

GREENE. 

His heaving breast made the weak pen to tremble, 
Until he ruled it with his mighty will. 

LAFAYETTE. 

Tears are rare visitors to those calm eyes ; 



94 ARNOLD AND ANDRE. [Act III. 

And when they come, they bnng a solemn mes- 
sage 

From the great heart that could no longer quench 
them. 

KNOX. 

But once before have I beheld him thus. 

STEUBEN. 

And yet, at last, in what a clear firm hand 
He wrote the one irrevocable word. 
His loved and dreaded name. 

GREENE. 

The steady hand 
Belongs to war, to peace the moistened eye. 
War dislocates the man, his sterner half 
Ruling the gentler with the soldier's law, 
Which is sharp as his sword, quick as his flint. 

KNOX. 

The law of war is now our law of life. 
Its rough necessities so sway the hour 
That in a case like this mercy were suicide. 

LAFAYETTE. 

As if by miracle we have escaped 



Scene V.] ARNOLD AND ANDR:^. 95 

The ruin of the noblest, grandest cause 
That e'er by power of truth and manliness 
Was launched upon the storms of rageful war. 

GREENE. 

By providential blessing we 've escaped ; 
But while from danger's loosened grip our hearts 
Still shudder, round beneath us baffled Death 
From rock to rock, in sight, springs black and 

bellowing, 
Where the loud foam of open enmity 
Curls o'er the silent reefs of treason deep ; 
So that, to ward the costliest wreck e'er strewn 
Upon the shores of time, we still must bind 
In one great cable all our life's best threads. 
And on our haughty foe hurl death for death. 



THE END. 



.il 


















^^^^0^ .^ 






^' ^^^ ^-^ =. 



'^^0^ 



• <i:i Q 














.^ r<^ 



% 






0- sV 







^.Z-'^^^^^' 




O^ s 





- "^^0^ 






-..# * 






•^^■^^ 











7 ^V 




' 4 <t S 







.N^ 





^^.^-,.% 













